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Madame and I have loved being together the way we are. We’ve both been married before. We’re both divorced. We both still love our previous spouses, but the marriages in those instances were at their end. We still get along with our ex’s. In our own relationship, we’ve never felt a “need” to be married or officially coupled to each other.

But now life comes up and presents us an opportunity that is only available to domestic partners or spouses. And I find myself navigating the state website, downloading and filling out forms and having them available to present to my owner for our collective signatures before a notary.

And I find myself annoyed by the form, although I’m sure it’s less annoying than a marriage form, though it’s been a while since I filled out one of those. The form says “Domestic Partnera A:” and “Domestic Partner B:”. And it’s a fillable PDF. So I can add more words to the right of those words. But I wonder what happens if I do that and submit it. I want to write “Owner” and “Owned”. Or perhaps something else. But then I’m up against involving other (vanilla) people in our kink. But… our kink is more than kink. It really is how we live. It really is who we are. We wouldn’t be lying by adding text to it. But how would the state react? Would they refuse? And how would history judge this? I imagine that all forms will eventually be digital and somewhere in the future anyone will be able to look up this particular form and see that “Great-great-great-grandpa was an owned partner!”. It’s exciting as well as scary.

I’m pretty sure I know how this goes. We’ll leave it as it is. We’ll know what we really mean with it. And we’ll celebrate our happy selves as we want to celebrate our happy selves outside the scope of the rest of history and government bureaucracy in this matter.

My boy had a rough evening this past Sunday. Nothing to do with us, nothing that he won’t get past, but it was an incident that left him feeling shaky and uncertain, one where in the aftermath, he was left with the uncomfortable consequence of questioning himself and his decisions. I know that feeling, because I have been there too. It was the kind of thing where self comfort and self care can be hard to administer because you’re engaged in a private, temporary war with the inner parts of self.

I had mild cause to be upset with my boy because he made a brief but poor decision. This is not his standard fare, and I knew that he needed no tongue lashing from me. I wanted to be a place of support and encouragement, but I also knew he needed to sit with himself and assess. We didn’t talk much that Sunday night, but cocooned ourselves in our nest of bed and blankets. It was the exact womb he wanted and needed to crawl into this night.

The next morning I was at work early, gone before he had risen for the day. I got a text message from him. He was asking permission to lock himself in chastity. It was a simple text, yet I could feel the intensity about it. “May I lock up your cock today? I feel the urge to locked…..please”.

What I felt most immediately grateful for was the realization that I didn’t feel mildly irritated by this request. At no point did I think, “Wow…..you just made a regrettable mistake, and you’re thinking about sex??”. This feels important to me because it is my belief is that a lot of partners could have taken this approach. It would be understandable. But I knew immediately that is was nothing sexual. It was purely emotional.

My boy has asked to be locked up many, many times in the past because he simply likes it. Because it is part of his submission to me. Because it is kinky. Because he is owned by me and this is what we do. But this time, I immediately sensed it was different. His cage is another cocoon. It is a place….a thing….that can act as a barrier to outside touches and influences. It can be used as punishment and pleasure as the two are often synonymous and interchangeable. I think he just simply wanted to feel it on his skin. We have talked often how his chastity device is a fist of sorts, how he can feel me squeezing him throughout the day and night. It is pleasurable for him. I think this time is was for the sake of comfort and proximity. He needs to feel close. I am sensing this. I am grateful that he is not the sort of guy who withdraws completely when he experiences trouble with self. And again, in the scope of all things related, this is a hiccup. Just a disappointing one.

The power of a cage can be mighty, and I do appreciate how this event has expanded the use, purpose and function of a steel cage. I gave him permission to lock up and get to work. He was instructed to place the key in my panty drawer, which he did. We had a quiet but good night last night and slept entangled as we do.

And, as is often the case, I woke early and fumbled through the dark to put on pajamas and start the coffee. As I was quietly getting dressed in the dark, I could see my shadowy boy slip out of bed to the floor, where he knelt as he draped the upper part of his body against the bed. I know for certain he is not even close to fully awake when this happens. He does this in order to subdued his erection. It was morning wood, which is a part of his natural state.

And it struck me that seeking comfort through a steel cage is part of his natural state too. It grounds and centers him. I know it is not needed, but it is desired. It is something that helps him. It is something he can and does use to help himself.

I am appreciative. Of him, of the devise, of the experience. His cage will accompany him on this personal journey, I think. It is the exact right companion.

Last night we had some lovely sex. We had just watched a movie and while she snoozed through some of it, she was restless throughout. She’d already seen it, I had not. She came back from the bathroom at the end of the movie and we coupled, kissing, touching, groping. She allowed me inside her and then teased me verbally the entire time. Well, except for the moments where I was able to silence her with hard thrusting, but that didn’t last long. It can’t last too long when she whispers and I’ve been denied over 70 days. But we settled into some lovely fun playful sex and she grinned at torturing and teasing me, watching me struggle to stave off the cumming that was so very close several times.

Eventually I was able to withstand even most of her whispering and was able to really fuck well, which kind of puts her off her game of teasing and she had enough. She told me so. “Enough” she said. “Down!” she said. Finally she got the right word for her dog “HEEL!” she giggled. And I withdrew. “Damn you, dog… ” she smiled at me.

We settled into bed. The two of us together, tangled, pillow, body, pillows, body, tangles of arms and legs. I was able to pet her and did so. She snoozed, I heard her breathing change, the ragged noises of sleep now coming from her. And despite ourselves having stopped fucking, I was still quite horny. I rolled onto my back, able to still pet her. With my left hand I pet her, with my right, I pet myself. My hand grasped around my cock, still wet from being inside her, still hard from our love making. I pumped it, I stroked it. I remembered her whispers and words. Soon I was near the edge and pumping harder, my balls slapping and making the quintessential jerking off noises. She stirred as I paused from my stroking.

†”Are you touching?”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“Not enough for you, pup?”

“Still horny, Ma’am”

I could hear her smile. “Good, pup. Good. I like you torturing yourself while I sleep. Pet me to sleep again and tease yourself for ten more minutes. Then sleep.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” And so I pet her, waited for her sleeping noises again and spent another ten minutes teasing myself to the edge multiple times while she slept next to me.

When I snuggled in behind her spooning her, my hard cock nestled between her cheeks. She roused again as I so very gently humped against her. “Keep petting me. Keep humping too.” which I did until we both fell asleep tangled with each other. Another lovely night in our big beautiful bed. Another night with my lovely Mistress still holding her virtual leash close while we slept.

†This is the point where the fantasy happens. She didn’t really tell me this, but I was stroking next to her while she slept. And I’m sure she’d be okay with my torturing myself. She’s mentioned it before. A charmed life we lead.

This morning we are preparing the house for yet another lost puppy. I mean, another house guest. A friend who is recovering from surgery has asked for a different venue of recovery – within an eight week recovery of “don’t you dare do X or you’ll screw up the recovery.”

In an ideal world, I’d have helped Madame around the house naked and collared. But in our current situation it’s a case of just running around the house in jammies and getting things done.

But we took a moment at the end of the cleanup and moving of things to settle into the dining room. She in the comfy dining room chair, me kneeling at her feet.

“Get on your hands knees facing the plant” I did so, puzzled. “Closer” she added. I moved closer. “I like footstools closer.”

And so I was her footstool for a few minutes until the tea kettle whistled and I was directed to handle the kettle.

Just snippets of how I serve her and a glimpse at how I’d sometimes like to serve her as well. But that’s how we do it in our world. And we’re good with that.

Most often when we’re playing with chastity, it’s because I’m away from her for a weekend or traveling to somewhere. This latest time, I was only down in Massachusetts for a day trip, but I wanted to lock up while I was away. It’s comforting to me sometimes to be locked when I’m away from her even for short duration.

Sometimes when we play its because of a social event such as “Locktober”. Lots of kinky folks play then and last year I was locked from stem to stern of that month, a complete month of lockdown. Thanks social media!

But on these short stints, like we’re on now, it makes it so that I’m constantly reminded of our chastity lifestyle. I can’t predict when she’ll unlock me so in our calendar, where I track our chastity, I find the entry that says “Dog locked” and I edit it. Another day locked, I change the end time. Another morning awakened and she leaves the house before I do? Another few hours added. Constantly, once or twice a day I update the calendar entry, increasing the record of my sentence under lock and key to her. She just discussed our chastity play in a post yesterday and we both recognize that our chastity is not “set it and forget it” – but more like “set it and remind him – again and again”. My chastity, along with my orgasm denial, is something that we play with where the reminder is part of the play. Her reminding me that she’s going to cum and I’m not. Her showing me that she broke out the hitachi yesterday while I was locked and at the office. Her driving me to the edge with her words. Her waking up while I’m kneeling alongside the bed waiting for an erection to subside. All reminders to keep me remembering that I’m under her lock and key, even if I lock myself to start the sentence.

I don’t have any idea when she’ll let me out again. I’ll just keep updating the calendar entry each day as the sentence continues on and on. And we’ll add it all up again at the end of the year again.

“Does it make you smile knowing that your boy is driving around the state, locked up for you?”

I got this from john, of course. Not that I would mind having another boy or 10 driving around the state locked in a steel chastity chastity device. Hell, I would get off on knowing that every single man out there walked around in a metal tube and lock, but that’s just me. Every time I see another woman walking around with a key dangling from a necklace from her neck, I smile a secret smile…..sometimes outwardly, sometimes privately because I am guessing that often times this is just a fashion statement that has nothing to do with chastity. Maybe…..but maybe not. A dreamer can dream, right?

But to answer the question (I told him he’d have to wait for this post in order to find out), my reply is Yes, of course. Of course it makes me smile. But I smile at a lot of things regarding us. I do wonder, though…..do you think, pup, that you being locked in chastity becomes old? Do you fear that one day I won’t smile as brightly? That your chastity becomes something that is so routine that I stop being aware of it? To answer, it is not anything at all I’d ever tire of. Ever. I found you last night, splayed out on top of our bed, completely naked, except for the shiny metal upon your cock and wrist. Your smile was splayed too, and the moment I see you, everything about you seems and feels right. I will never in a million years tire of such a thing….at the sight and knowledge of you.

I like the noise of this new cage. It clinks and clangs in a way that is different than the other devices, and I like it. I am guessing that a stranger or coworker would assume the noise has something to do with loose things in your pocket, but I know better. Oh….I know better.

We are in a quiet pattern in our kink. I won’t go as far as to say season, because seasons last months on end. And in Maine, winter is about 6 months long. So, I’ll call it patterns, much like a weather pattern that tends to last weeks and not months. Stormy outside yes, but quiet and peaceful on the inside. I feel a sense of contentment, but know that you crave more. I never, ever forget that you are my kinky, subservient, obedient, service-focused, collared, disciplined, owned, sexy boy. But I do sometimes omit from your diet the daily dose of kink that fortifies you. You are so easy to tend to, and you take such obvious joy and pleasure from chastity and restraint. When you lock yourself up as you do, and I am wearing that key, it’s a strong bond between us. Another bond we share. I feel this sense of privilege knowing that I hold your key, knowing that you do this for the love of Me, for the love of our dynamic, for the love of the feeling you get. You don’t need a cage on that cock of yours to know and feel that you are owned, but it certainly adds to it.

So, when you ask if it makes me smile, the answer is a resounding, full-bodied, complete and utter Yes. It makes me smile in pleasure. In wickedness. In pride. In joy. In sadism.

Sorry to the blog readers that we haven’t really written much but it invariably happens where we go off on an event which derails the writing and then we don’t get back into the swing of things. Add to that added dynamics in the house and patterns in the house have to change and adjust, so one of the things to get dropped is the blog.

We had a lovely time in DC with another 1200 of our closest kinky friends around President’s weekend, but the weather didn’t cooperate enough to allow us to do much tourist wandering, although being on the crew, the weather was absolutely PERFECT. We really do enjoy being part of the crew though it is a lot of work.

So, she and I played together, I got to spend some quality time with Lady J and we had a good time. Given our work schedules we viewed the event as more vacation time for me and was supposed to be vacation time for her as well, with some work sprinkled in. It ended up being a great time (you get the camp you need, not the camp you want), though I was terribly tired by the time we got back home.

And then work took over for us, along with life. I have no complaints. All my stress and problems are minor and first world problems.

Fast forward to March and here we are well into it. We’ve had a lovely few days together lately. She’s discovering that she enjoys Manhattans (the cocktail) and we’re adjusting our home bar to suit. I’m on a trip to NH today so have stopped in a tax free NH liquor store and stocked up for the coming weeks. A party to attend and a beautiful hotel room are in our future tonight before I play the role of Dad with one of the kids tomorrow who has an event 150 miles from home. And yep, I’m driving down there to visit him at the event and then return. Dads in divorced families may do things like this.

Our household situation has changed too. We used to be a communal house of two women and two men. Previous to that we were three women and one man. And right now Chloe is outnumbered, 3-1. And the energy in the house is… off. It’s simply not right. I thrive on the feminine energy that’s normally in the house and Chloe loves that I do. When it was a 3-1 F/m house, she would always smile and smirk at me knowing that I was in service to women all the time. I was doing all my chores not just for Chloe, but for the rest of the women too, even if they didn’t know it. And now, with the wrong energy men in the house I often get a case of the fuck-its wherein I’ll let some of the normal tasks go because the other men in the house are the cause of the mess/dirt/issue. And she’s cutting me some slack on that. She recognizes that the energy is wrong and it is at a polar opposite to how I work. I am actively avoiding the common areas of the house and retreating to the bedroom far more often than I used to. This is a temporary situation. And by the end of April I expect that the house will be back to at 3-1 F/m, perhaps a 3-2 F/M for a little while, which will be difficult – Five people in the same space will be tight – and could be tedious – but we hope the other couples work schedule will work with all of ours and not be too onerous. At the least, the very opposite energy should be out of the house by the end of March and things will get better. And if not, well, it’ll be spring and I’ll just spend that much more time camping!

But we make time for each other and perhaps the opposite energy person has driven us together in some ways. We share our own positive energy together while leaving the other energy behind. We escape to our room and snuggle in.

She has been flirting hard with me the past few days and we’ve been sharing more than just the usual FLR porn, but a combination with couples fucking. She’s been hinting at hard fucking and that’s exactly what I’ve been able to give her a few times this weekend already. It all ends up being in service to her, though I do take a delight in fucking her so hard that it makes her silent. She’s able to make me cum in seconds if she’s able to taunt me verbally, so being able to make her silent is a key skill in being able to fuck her hard and long. So I exploit that where I can. And yet, when I first head into us fucking, I’ll be the one on my knees next to the bed, lapping at her asshole as she moans and wiggles her ass in response to my oral attentions. While that’s happening my hand squeezes my cock to bring it to hardness. If she’s particularly impatient, she’ll taunt me verbally, calling me her dirty boy, ordering me to get my tongue in there. But usually she just lets me take my time, get the cock hard and then dive in deeply to spread her pussy wide open. I often long for her to be more verbal while I’m licking her, but that might end up being self defeating, right? Her words get me hard, and I fuck her once I’m hard. So if she speaks more, I get hard quicker and she gets less oral attention. Well, she wouldn’t have to get less oral attention if she ordered me to keep my face down there and pleasure her that way. Hrmmmm… something to consider.

In the past few days we’ve shared a few robust fucking sessions. This morning she reveled in my struggles to keep from cumming. She also smiled widely as I orgasmed while fucking her, still no spilling. But she also was more than happy to tease me as I came to her afterward, her hand on my stiff prick and her mouth in my ear whispering the dirty things she thinks, driving me to the edge and making me utter “Stop!” – at which time she’d smack my body somewhere.

This has been a terrible random rambling post, but it is a little bit of a flare shot into the sky to let y’all know we’re still here. Your comments and questions are always appreciated. Feel free to say hello. We do enjoy it.

We were in bed and both feeling amorous and she wanted to take me inside her. “Get that cock hard… “

I started getting my cock hard for her and she asked “Why aren’t you hard for me already?”

I let her know about how, with the exception of morning wood, it’s rare for me to be able to simply summon an erection without her input into it. Without her asking for it, demanding it, whispering about things – without her involvement. It’s taken a long time to get to that point, but it really is a case that my physical arousal is almost always contingent on her being present and wanting me to be aroused. Sure, there are others that I am with at times and I find my way to arousal, but it does take time.

It was a kind of casual fucking we were sharing and we talked as we entwined our bodies and she took her pleasures from me. “How long has it been since you spilled?”

“44 days” offering that latest denial length.

“What’s the longest you’ve gone… “ I was unable to answer precisely. I knew there was a time of 122 days. And I know there were times of other durations around 100 days, over and under.

“But it doesn’t matter much to me” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m so not worried about cumming any more” I explained as I slowly fucked her. “I like the orgasms I can have, but I’m not so worried about cumming. It’s just not as important as being part of your pleasure.” She smiled, pulled me into her with her leg.

“Go on… “

“I love being part of your pleasure. And it’s cliche, but I really do enjoy pleasuring you.” We paused speaking as we fucked. “Cumming is great, but I don’t like how I feel after and it’s far better feeling you cum around me.” I pinched at her nipple and she gasped. “I feel bad that I sometimes have to stop fucking because I’m too close to cumming. I wish I’d be able to fuck you exactly the way you want and not have to stop. I’m okay with you pushing me out when you’re done. To have me pull out when you tell me to heel, to have me stop once your pleasure is done.”

“I’m done, pull out” she said abruptly. I whimpered and pulled out.

We spoke some more and soon went to bed. She told me to blog about my denial, my service, my orgasms, my cumming.

I find myself in this cliche world that I really do enjoy her taking her pleasure from me. And while it’s sometimes defeating when she orders me to heel, to pull out, I do try to remember that it’s what I’m asking for. And I really do wish that I was able to fuck in whatever way she wanted for as long as she wants. And that she’d be able to speak any of the words and stories she’d like that would drive me crazy would not push me over the edge, but only to the edge where she could have me dangle for minutes on end all while she watches me struggle and writhe and whimper. And in the same way keep me hard, ready and fucking her until she was able to take her orgasm and then be done with me. I’ve mentioned n the past to her that I wish that my orgasm could be triggered by her granting permission – that perhaps I wouldn’t be able to cum unless she uttered some certain words or phrase – that my cumming would be 100% totally within her hands. I wonder sometimes if we could achieve that with training or hypnosis. I’ve been reading some information about the Masters and Johnson technique.

When I do cum, my behavior changes for a few days. It’s not the best of experiences although I’ve tried to become better with it – and I think with some noticeable improvement. But she does like my cumming. She likes my submission in cleaning up after myself and she simply likes making me do it. It’s enjoyable for her to make me cum, so of course she should be having me do so.

And yes, I accept my denial. I enjoy it. I get off on being told I can’t get off. But I’m not one of those people that never ever wants to cum again. Even if she never made me cum again, I’d still want to know that there’s some hope that I will cum. Even if she picks up the goalpost and moves it every week, I need to know that there’s a goalpost out there. “Oh, pup, maybe in summer we can let you cum… “ and then Fusion can come and go and a birthday and then we find ourselves having the last gin and tonic on Labor Day weekend and she can suggest “pup, perhaps you’ll have something to be thankful for in November? You can wait until then, right?” And then we’d find the new year coming around with promises that the present not given might come in the next year. THAT is the kind of denial I’m looking at. I’m not the type that fantasizes about her saying “Pup, we’re locking you up until the next decade, then we’ll throw some dice to see if you cum.” No, not that at all. And yeah, yeah I also do enjoy her whispering to me the stories of my not cumming again… but it does always turn up that we have a goalpost – but just not always. Damn, I’m awfully needy about my denial!

I’m not sure if there’s much of a POINT to this post, but let me try and sum up, as I write a distracted post. I do love pleasuring her. I do love cumming. I do love denial. And I love her tormenting me with her denying my spill. I wish I could fuck better and bring her more pleasure in that way without having to pullout. That’s a real nuisance. But I still very much enjoy our time together and our coupling and her taking pleasure. It’s a beautiful thing and I enjoy being there with her.

The Caribbean island of St. Croix was wonderful. Parts were still obviously ravaged from the hurricanes but signs of rebirth and regrowth were everywhere. My best friend and I were visiting friends, and slept in the guest house of friends of these friends….two wonderful men who offered up their extra nest during our stay.

We spent a good part of each day sitting lazily underneath their deep, wide patio, covered in deep shade, which was needed as the sun was strong. Before us was a sweeping view of the sea, and we were lucky enough to be able to look out over the bluest of blue parts of that long stretch of island coast. Usually, we spent morning and late night hours on the patio talking and drinking coffee or other spirits. Early in our stay, we were told a story that I find myself thinking about a lot. Here it is:

We were told that the guest house we were staying in was once a dungeon. The former owner of the house had build the guest house as a place to keep her male slaves. After quickly determining that these were consensual slaves, the story became much sexier to me, and I was curious to learn more without seeming toooo interested. They know I’m kinky, and live a FLR with my boy, but I keep the details vague around the vanillas.

It seems that this Mistress lived happily on the island and was well known and liked by the locals. She built her dungeon to fit in, so from the outside, it gleamed no additional attention. But the inside was a vastly different story. I wasn’t able to get too many details, as our friends didn’t really know her personally, but the stories proceeded her.

I laid in bed during those mornings, the french doors wide open overlooking the sea, and would lounge in sleepy daydreams about this woman, wondering what her world was like. I looked around at the brightly colored, stucco walls, speculating what it must have looked like as a dungeon. The guest house wasn’t a large space, but it was certainly a creative space. The main living area was two stories, with a bedroom loft area off to the side. Sturdy beans once held chains and bondage devices. Steel rings were built into the walls that now held local art, but once upon a time, they held local males, locked in shackles that confined them to this space.

I was told that these boys….men, toys, slaves…..would work nearly naked on the property, working the lawns, gardens, patio areas. I could picture them in my imagination, making a beautiful place more beautiful, their tanned skin glistening in the hot sun, the vibrant sea blue as the backdrop. I would then picture them at night, serving their Mistress, her friends, stepping into the night shadows when their service wasn’t immediately required.

Everything about this property seemed happy, joyous. It just had that energy about it. Everything about it flowed. The inside of the main house transitioned seamlessly to the outside spaces when the shudders and sliding doors were open wide. The patio encompassed the house, and a short path lead to the slave quarters. Everything was open and connected. Lush greenery created a natural fence affording all the necessary privacy. Twinkling lights and large candles cast soft lighting. Magical, to say the least.

I came home after that trip and shared the tale with my boy. But it was a hard story to share, because most of what I could tell about that dungeon was what I created in my own imagination. I find myself drifting off in fantasy about this place, about what it might be like to live like that. And in many ways, I DO live like that Mistress. I live in a sweet place, with a lovely slave. He serves me, he serves friends, he works the yard. I know from private messages I get that others are curious about us, about the way we live, and express a harmless jealousy that my boy and I get to do the things we do.

Imagination is a wonderful thing. Especially when it is built on real life pillars. Now, if I could only have that Caribbean blue outside my front door….

I already mentioned our first try out of the paws and we did end their use in the morning, but I have a mind that wanders. More accurately, I have an incredibly pornographic and fantasy laden mind. And my mind wandered into that land while I was rousing in the morning. Here’s where my mind wandered…

Slowly I woke, my mind rousing, wondering if last night happened. My hands – or lack thereof – reminded it had happened. Like many mornings I woke with an erect cock and my hands tried to touch it but that wasn’t possible, given the mitts on my hands. I was fortunate she had not clipped them together or to any places where she might have locked them into a static place.

I thought I smelled bacon and toast. I knew I smelled coffee.

She came into the room, shutting off our white noise generator and patted me on the head. Her hands checked out my mitts – still completely secure.

“Come on, pup, time for the morning pee” she told me as she clipped the leash to my collar. Still drowsy I was roused quicker with a snap of the leash. Leaving bed, I was clad only in my collar and leash and the mitts on my hands. There was no way I could have put on my glasses. “Roommates are gone, pup, so let’s get you outside so you can do your business.”

I must have looked at her with some kind of look of incredulity.

“Oh, pup, it’s fine. Trust me” she smiled as she spoke.

Our home is odd with three doors to get to the outside. It’s quite the gauntlet. We got to the final door right before getting outside and I balked. She yanked on the leash twice, pulling me toward the door. I remained in the house. We live in a highly residential neighborhood. With kids around. I was not going outside in daylight so exposed. She knew it too. And she didn’t expect me to walk outside. But she did leave me standing there at the door as I got colder.

“It’s okay, boy, you don’t have to go out. Turn around.” She pushed my shoulders to spin me around and I saw in my blurry vision a bucket. She kicked it with her toe. “Come on pup, do your business.” I exhaled a couple times and was finally able to relax and pee into the bucket. There was no way for me to pinch it off with my finger, so I just did my best by exercising my PC muscle instead.

“You’ll take care of that before you leave for work, pup.”

“Of course, Ma’am.”

She led me back in the house and into the dining room. My smelling bacon was correct. And toast. I didn’t notice the eggs with my nose, but there they were. In a bowl. On the floor.

I really didn’t mind. In fact my cock did pulse a little thinking of all this, but there was one real problem with the meal; the eggs. They hadn’t quite gone cold, but they were, at best, tepid. And I loathe cold eggs. It’s almost a hard limit. But no doubt she knew this and still presented me this meal.

“Thank you Ma’am. Thank you for breakfast” I said as I got down on my hands and knees and got on with eating. It wasn’t that bad, but that texture of tepid scrambled eggs. With tepid cheese… I wasn’t gagging but on the path.

She also set down a mug with a straw to give me some coffee. The straw was an incredibly generous touch by her. It sure beat lapping it up from a dish and I appreciated that.

She sat near me as I ate, her foot occasionally tapping my body in various spots as I ate and she typed and sipped coffee. When I finished, I moved to her and kissed her foot as a thank you and lay down on the floor next to her. A few minutes later I was grateful for the opportunity to use the bathroom before my shower. She removed the mitts, the collar and bade me shower. When I was done, she directed me to clean the dishes from the floor and the bucket in the mudroom, which I did. Then I dressed and we made our way to our respective jobs. My morning was good, I would reflect as coworkers wished me “good morning” – and I smirked as I did so.